


Freckles

by phipiohsum475



Series: MycroftandJohn Tumblr Prompts [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Pining!John, alcohol use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 07:48:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3684018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phipiohsum475/pseuds/phipiohsum475
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Why yes, I am as think as you drunk I am." "What are you afraid of?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Freckles

John sat in his chair, bottle of whisky half empty next to him. Sherlock flew out of Heathrow for a “Nine, John! I’ll actually get to set foot in North Korea. Fascinating country!” John appreciated the peace and quiet for close to four and a half hours before the nagging doubt he’d been stifling for weeks began to overwhelm him.

It was the freckles that did it.

The freckles that spanned gorgeous pale skin, and littered down firm biceps and now John was having a crisis.  He’d had more than one dream about tracing the freckles with the tip of his tongue, and the night before Sherlock left, the dreams had progressed.

And now, the dream replayed in his mind, the way his ejaculate splattered over Mycroft’s freckles, the way his neck would stretch when looking up at John from his knees. The whisky couldn’t drown the images from his head, but he couldn’t face his desperate, raging attraction to his best friend’s brother sober.

Maybe the liquor couldn’t dismiss the images, but it certainly dulled his senses, and he jumped when the door of the living room opened. He turned, and his face grew red hot as his eyes traveled up the clean lines of the resplendent three piece suit to the face of very man he was trying to avoid.

“Fuck,” the word fell out of his mouth before he could stop it.

“I believe we need to talk.” Mycroft set his umbrella against the wall, and sat upright in Sherlock’s chair.

“I believe-“ John pointed at Mycroft with a bleary eye, “I need another drink.” He poured two more fingers of whisky, spilling a few drops onto the table before setting the bottle down.

Mycroft leaned in towards John, and John followed his lead. John watched as Mycroft stretched long, agile fingers towards John’s jaw. Mycroft’s touch was remarkable warm, and John jolted back as soon as he felt the pressure.

“Exactly how drunk are you?” Mycroft sighed.

John tried to make a joke to alleviate the tension coursing through him, “Why, yes, I am as think as you drunk I am.”

“What are you afraid of?” Mycroft implored, ignoring John’s attempt at distraction by placing his hand instead on John’s knee.

John shook his head, “Can’t do it.”

“I’ve seen it in your eyes, John. Ever since I needed that knife wound in my shoulder stitched. Something changed that night. You look at me differently. Hungrily.”

John shook his head again, “Can’t.”

“Why not? Sherlock already knows; he’s seen it in your eyes just as I have.”

John snapped his head up, eyes wide in shock. Mycroft chuckled. “So what is it then?”

“You can’t possibly-“

“Oh, John, I assure you I can.” Mycroft offered, and brought his hand back up to John’s face. John leaned into the touch and sighed. John opened his eyes and licked his lips.

Mycroft chuckled, “Tomorrow. Let’s get you to bed. We can talk more, tomorrow.”


End file.
